What is essential? Is it love, success, a fancy car? A fat wallet with a handful of thin, multicolored plastic cards? Truly, have you ever taken the time for self-examination, or have desire and societal norms gotten their grasp so tightly around you that escaping are only the expected rote actions and thoughts devoid of life? Desire is the cause of suffering, and the only way to end suffering is to rid yourself of desire. Separate from the self. But wait . . . is not the desire to rid yourself of desire a desire in itself? If so, what hope do we have?These are the dangers of teaching an Honors Philosophy in Literature course at a high school. While most are either at work during the summer or enjoying their vacations (greetings, fellow educators), I am quietly, almost secretly, engulfing my mind with questions I have no answer to. When I first heard I would be teaching this course, beautifully rife with underpinnings of Eastern philosophy -- specifically Buddhism -- I was anxious to begin my journey into familiar, yet almost forgotten thought. The readings have always fascinated me, but my fear was that I would not have the answers to my students' questions. I am no Buddhist or existentialist scholar. Strangely, however, this state of quasi-trepidation led me to a zymurgical (bask in its glory, lexophiles) epiphany...
Though my blog has remained barren for months, rest assured my brewpot has not. I have been brewing at a steady pace since June, and I have five different batches either in fermenters or kegs at the moment. I won't go into detail for each, but now featured at Buddha Brew Co. are (percentages refer to alcohol by volume [ABV]):
1. 2009 The Buddha's Reserve Russian Imperial Stout (12.8%)
2. Hard Cider (7.0%)
3. Belgian Quadruple (9.2%)
4. Pumpkin Ale (6.5%)
5. Chocolate Russian Imperial Stout (10.0%)
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| Double-barrel action |
Check the gas -- no, it's on and flowing. The lines are not obstructed or frozen. Let me see if the lines are properly connected to the ke -- holy hell, the keg is empty.
My Grapefruit IPA was gone. My chances for placing in the competition vanished. Most importantly, my opportunity to have expert judges taste my brew coldly drifted past the horizon. So it goes.
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As I've mentioned in the past, while brewing is contemplative, meditative, and therapeutic, brewing with a good friend is even better. I've been lucky enough to have a constant co-brewer this summer, and I must wholeheartedly thank him for his patience -- I have a habit of haphazardly going about my business -- and support. Thanks, Fizz.
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Next on the agenda, a fan-favorite: The Bourbon Vanilla Porter. Of the beers I've made, none have garnered more praise and quickly emptied glasses than The Bourbon Vanilla Porter. Those that know me well know that I like to brag about things that, deep down, mean nothing to me (e.g. winning dart matches, trivia games, etc.); it is done out of fun, maybe boredom. Sorry for the semicolon, Vonnegut (look it up). Those that know me also know that I never like to praise my beers. My usual response is unabashedly stolen from the mind of Larry David: "Meh." That's how I generally rate my beers. The Bourbon Vanilla Porter is one of a select few of my beers that has broken the prestigious yet cryptic meh scale. I love this beer, and you will too if you are lucky enough to have a try. I'm sure it wouldn't win more than a bronze medal at the Great American Beer Festival though. The previous sentence was an example of what my friend John Murphy would call a "humble brag." Brilliant concept, but purely a joke in this case.
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| Shangri-La? |
I hope you took the time to check out the Great American Beer Festival link. If you didn't, go back and check it out. Now. My friend and fellow beer enthusiast, Karl, and I will be attending this glorious gathering two weeks from now in Denver, Colorado. I challenge you to find a brewery worth mentioning that is not on that list, besides Southern Tier. Yes, visiting the Russian River and 3Floyds tables will be exhilarating to part of my brain and inebriating to another, but what I am most excited about is the sight of an empty table. You will notice that Anheuser-Busch, Coors, and Miller will also be at the festival. I've never been to this event before, but I'd imagine their representatives must feel like Mario Mendoza at a Baseball Hall of Fame convention. I know that reference is a stretch, but just imagine the gall these companies have to show up at a place designated for the best beers in the best beer-making country in the world (That's right, I wrote that -- bring it, Belgium/Germany). My only hope is that they will need hand trucks to carry out their kegs at the end of the day, while others are hoisting theirs over their heads with one hand. That's enough cynicism for now.
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The more I think about it, the more I realize the name, Buddha Brew, is the perfect name for the beer I make. While I may never attain nirvana and break from Saṃsāra, I do take from this philosophy a new understanding. Do not live for the now -- live in the now. Both yesterday and tomorrow are hypothetical, unrealized, and inconsequential. Self-discovery does not come from searching where it is easiest or most accessible. It is a journey that one must neither make presumptions nor rush through.
I am reminded of a Sufi parable where a man is walking down a dark corridor with a shaft of light coming through the ceiling. He is on his hands and knees desperately searching for something. A friend comes across the man and asks what he is doing. The man explains that he has lost a ring, and he is now searching for it. Inquiring where he lost the ring, the man points to a location far behind him down the darkened corridor.
"Why are you looking here then?" asks his friend.
"Well, there is more light here," answers the man.
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Like the man in the story, I've searched for myself in the lightened corridors of life when what I've been searching for is buried, obscured by unnecessary desires. For me though, that's where my Buddhist belief ends. I do still desire a certain desire, and that is to brew. My meditation and self-discovery comes as I mix celestial chemistry with artistic uniqueness. In the moment, I join East and West.
Just as the man in the story, my students in class will never make their discoveries by asking me questions. They must take their own journeys into the darkness. All I can do is share experiences with them.
And that is essential.
